Flapjack scoffed. “You sure about that, Romeo?”

  Hayward bristled, his mustache twitching. “Were you spying on us?”

  “Trust me, that’s not something anyone wants to see,” Flapjack replied. “Let’s just say, it didn’t take a bandana or sock on the door to know what you two were up to in there.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Yeah, actually, about that, I’m happy you two are together, but my office isn’t your no-tell motel, all right?”

  Gwen giggled and clung to Hayward’s arm. “Looks like we’re busted!”

  Hayward looked ready to pull his top hat down over his entire head. If he were live in vivid technicolor, I imagined his cheeks would be the hue of a ripe plum.

  “We’ll get to the bottom of these broken pots sooner or later. Luckily, they’re cheap.” I sighed and pulled a stack of papers out of the printer: the website orders that had come in since the last time I’d checked. “Yeesh, I have a ton of work to do today. I’ve got another order for funeral flowers that came in last night, bringing the weekend’s total to two, and then I have to make up half a dozen arrangements for Thursday for a family reunion.” I pulled up the digital order tracker and cross checked the stack of pages to make sure nothing had been cancelled. “We’ll have the meeting tonight and we can see about rustling up some volunteers to keep an eye on things around here.”

  “Gee, here’s an idea, Scar, get G.I. Joe to install a system next time he comes to town. It’s kind of his thing.”

  I frowned at Flapjack. “I’ll give him a call. But he’s in Seattle until the weekend.”

  It was a little ironic to be engaged to a man in the security industry and not have my shop wired up like Fort Knox. Lucas had offered in the past, but I’d always put him off. I didn’t see the point and it would just be one more thing for me to remember to deal with.

  Back when I’d first opened the store, I’d had some trouble with a different ghost and she’d broken the front door of the shop. The landlord had replaced the door and installed a security camera above the entrance to watch the street out in front of the shop, but it wouldn’t help me see what was going on inside the shop. He hadn’t cared all that much about my inventory or cash register, just his own property.

  “We can handle this on our own,” I said. “Don’t you think, Gwen?”

  She nodded, her feather earrings swaying vigorously. “Definitely! We’ve got twenty pairs of eyes that can keep a lookout on the shop. After everything you’ve done for them, I’m sure most members would be happy to help.”

  “Speaking of, have you heard of any disgruntled ghosts? Maybe someone’s upset that I’m not hosting the meetings anymore? Or a member who used to come and suddenly stopped? I don’t know the motive, but the vandalism seems a little too specific to just be random. I think it’s safe to say this is someone I know—or who knows me, anyway.”

  “If anyone has complaints, they haven’t brought them to me,” Gwen replied thoughtfully. “But maybe they wouldn’t. Everyone in the group knows my allegiance is to you, Scarlet.”

  I smiled at her. “That’s true. It can’t hurt to ask around, discreetly,” I added. Discretion wasn’t really Gwen’s style, but if there was some kind of internal problem in the group, it might be best to use a whisper rather than a bullhorn.

  Gwen nodded. “Right!”

  “Oh, there’s one other thing,” I said, holding up a finger. “Before she left yesterday, I got Heather to agree to try one meeting. She’s apprehensive, to say the least, so I’m going to need everyone to pitch in and help make her feel welcome.”

  Hayward adjusted his top hat. “You can count on us, Lady Scarlet!”

  Gwen called the meeting to order a few minutes early, giving plenty of time to discuss my recent vandalism before Heather was set to arrive. Unfortunately, no one knew anything, nor could they think of anyone—living or otherwise—that might be holding a grudge against me. The responses seemed genuine and I wasn’t sure which direction to point Gwen and Hayward in for follow-ups. The dozen ghosts gathered were long-term members of the support group and I couldn’t think of a motive for any of them to suddenly turn on me and start trouble. Not to mention, only two of the twelve were known to have any inclination toward interacting with the physical world.

  “I think we should set up our own neighborhood watch,” Gwen said. “Most of us don’t sleep anyway, so we should be able to rotate through a shift or two a week.”

  “What are we supposed to do if we see something?” Margarita, one of the group’s original members, asked, her hand raised. “Most of us can’t even push a feather across a tabletop, let alone pick up and drop a flowerpot. Wouldn’t it be dangerous for one of us to try and confront a ghost with that kind of power?”

  “Newsflash, you’re not a flowerpot,” Flapjack told her in a sarcastic tone. “Someone could throw a knife at your head, pointy end first, and you’d not even blink.”

  Margarita narrowed her eyes at him. “Why are you even here? You never have anything nice or helpful to contribute.”

  I bit my lip to keep from jumping in. I’d handed the reins to Gwen and I wouldn’t yank them back at the first sign of bickering. Especially when one of the disgruntled parties was Flapjack. Sarcasm was his mother tongue.

  “Everyone is welcome to come to these meetings,” Gwen said diplomatically. “My suggestion would be that we all go in pairs. Would that make everyone feel safer?” She threw a meaningful glance at Hayward, clearly marking him as her neighborhood watch buddy.

  “Gwen’s right,” I agreed. “I don’t want anyone trying to stop the person responsible for the broken pots. All I need to know is who we’re looking for. Once we figure that out, I can take it from there.”

  “Exactly. This is simply an observation mission,” she added.

  “Surveillance, not observation,” Flapjack muttered.

  Gwen’s idea seemed to appease the group and the discussion turned to the logistics. Even with Flapjack’s occasional wisecracks, things went smoothly, and within fifteen minutes, a schedule was arranged. Starting that night, there would be two ghosts in the shop from closing to opening, with the ghosts on duty reporting directly to me if there was any sign of trouble.

  With that settled, Gwen opened the floor for the attendees to talk about any issues or concerns from the week. I listened from my stool behind the front counter, occasionally chiming in with a suggestion or two, all the while keeping my eyes on the front door, waiting for Heather to arrive.

  The ghost problems were nothing new. Margarita was unhappy because a new family had moved into the home she haunted. Their Doberman was seemingly in tune with her presence and spent much of the day following her around, barking and growling. Dora, an elderly ghost from the nursing home down the road, was irritated with another ghost in the home for giving away all the Wheel of Fortune answers before anyone else got a chance. Jonathan, a twenty-something art major, was having an existential crisis after his latest ghost girlfriend dumped him.

  It was nice to be back in the group, especially as they were now used to looking to Gwen as the leader and I was able to dissolve into the background a little bit more than I used to when I was in charge. I stood at the front counter, working on the last of the arrangements for the family reunion. But as more time passed, I started to feel threads of anxiety unfurl in my stomach over Heather’s absence.

  Why had she gone through all that trouble to track me down and present me with a deal just to skip out right after I agreed to help her? Did she have some kind of ghost social anxiety? And if so, why had she agreed to come to the meeting in the first place? I’d already called and put down a deposit to hold the reservation for our wedding. If Heather thought she could back out on her end of the bargain, she had another thing coming.

  As the hour neared nine o’clock, ghosts started drifting out, some solo, others in pairs. When there were only half a dozen spirits left, a new face appeared at the door, but it wasn’t Heather. It wasn’t a ghost at all.

  Gwen yelped as the woman appeared at the shop’s front door and rapped on the glass with her knuckles. “That’s her!” she gasped, pointing at the stranger.

  “That’s who?” I asked.

  “That’s the ghost hunter!”

  Chapter Eight

  “What are you doing?!” Gwen squawked as I rounded the front counter.

  I paused and glanced over at her. “I’m going to answer the door,” I replied slowly, my eyebrow raised. “Any reason I shouldn’t?”

  Whoever the woman was, she was watching me talk to myself with a bemused look on her face from the other side of the glass door. She offered a friendly wave and I held up a finger.

  “Gwen?” I snapped. “Is she dangerous?”

  “No—not that I know of, at least, but Scarlet—”

  Ignoring her protest, I went to the door and unlocked the deadbolt. “Hello,” I greeted with a smile, “I’m really sorry, but we’re actually closed up for the night. We open tomorrow at ten.”

  The woman was taller than me but we shared a similar build, at least as far as I could tell given her winter clothing. Her dark-wash jeans were tucked into a pair of black boots and she wore a thick black jacket with the hood up against the smattering of icy rain. Wisps of blonde hair peeked out around her heart-shaped face, and while she wore some makeup, it didn’t conceal the freckles across the bridge of her nose or the small beauty mark above her lip.

  “Oh, I’m not here for flowers,” she said, sticking out her hand. “I came to introduce myself. Claudia Reeves.”

  I took her hand and shook it.

  She laughed softly at the puzzled look on my face. “I’m sorry. That was a little presumptuous of me. I thought you might have heard of me before, seeing as how we’re both well-known in our field.”

  “You’re a florist?” I said, continuing to play dumb.

  Claudia dropped her hand. “I’m a ghost hunter.”

  I barked out a fake laugh. “A ghost hunter? Well, I’m not sure what makes you think we’re in similar industries, if something like that can even be classified as an industry, which I’m not sure it can.”

  Claudia smiled, but there was a new edge to the corners. “My accountant would likely argue that point. I’ve done quite well for myself.”

  My own smile iced over. “I’m sure I’m very happy for you, Claudia, but I’m still not sure what any of this has to do with me.”

  Claudia laughed again, the sound melodic if not a little too rehearsed sounding. “You’re Scarlet Sanderson. I’ve seen your picture before in the online ghost hunting community.”

  “I’m sorry, the what?”

  Claudia studied me, and while the glance only lasted for a split second, I felt as though there wasn’t a thing she’d missed. “You really don’t know?”

  I shrugged, still keeping my arms clasped together in front of me. “Not a clue.”

  She blinked. “Wow. Um, well, this is unexpected. We all just assumed you were a lurker on the forum, but to not know about it at all is just—”

  “Listen,” I said, shuffling back a step, “I don’t mean to be rude, but it’s late and I need to close up for the night and—”

  “There are six ghosts in the room behind you—seven if you count the cat,” Claudia interrupted, jutting her chin past my shoulder. “A fellow with a top hat, I’ve seen him around town before, with that hippie chick. There’s a guy with floppy hair and glasses that’s clearly trying to channel Hugh Grant from some ’90s rom-com.”

  A round of gasps and whispers sounded behind me.

  “She can see us!”

  “What does she want?”

  “Who is she?”

  “I’m out of here!”

  “It’s something of a private party,” I said with a smile. “It’s been nice meeting you, Claudia. Have a good night, and think of us if you find yourself in the market for a bouquet.”

  Claudia opened her mouth but I shut the door and locked it. If there’d been some kind of shade to draw, I’d have done it. As it was, the only thing I could do was kill the lights.

  I felt my way back to the counter, careful not to run into any of the display cases. When I reached the counter, I turned to glance over my shoulder. Claudia was gone. I exhaled slowly. “That was weird!”

  Gwen swooped into view, her semitransparent form illuminated from the sliver of light streaming in the front from the streetlight outside. “What do you think she wants?”

  I shook my head. “I have no idea.”

  Several of the ghosts had vanished, panicked by Claudia’s impromptu visit, but Gwen, Margarita, Flapjack, and Hayward remained.

  “I must admit, I don’t quite like the way she says hunter,” Hayward interjected. “It comes off rather predatory, wouldn’t you say, Lady Scarlet?”

  “She’s … assertive,” I replied cautiously, still not sure what to make of the encounter. “Has anyone seen her show? That’s what she does, right? Some online show?”

  “Not yet.” Gwen shook her head. “Sturgeon invited us over to look her up on the computer of the house he haunts, but he couldn’t figure out which buttons to press and he wasn’t listening when I tried to help.” She made a frustrated scoffing sound. “He can be a stubborn old goat sometimes.”

  “All we know is she’s been in town for a week and a half. She’s staying at the Lilac House, in a garden-view room, and she’s been telling people she’s here to write a book.”

  I looked at Hayward. “That’s right. You mentioned a book before. We still don’t know what it’s about?”

  He nodded. “I imagine something to do with her, um, profession.”

  “Great. The last thing I want is some interview I give going into her book.”

  “What do you suppose she meant by online community?” Gwen asked.

  “Forums are like chat rooms, sort of. People go there to write about different topics and exchange ideas. In this case, about ghosts and where to find them.”

  “The problem is, which one,” Flapjack added. “There’s hundreds, maybe thousands, of them out there.”

  “Exactly. And 99.9 percent of them are run by people who wouldn’t see a ghost if it was dancing on their chest whilst simultaneously making balloon animals.”

  Flapjack snorted. “Nice visual.”

  I’d clearly been looking through too many event planning directories.

  “You know who could help us,” Gwen said after a moment.

  “Hmm?”

  “Nick Rivers. Holly’s friend. He used to be a paranormal detective or something silly like that. That’s what drew him to Beechwood Harbor in the first place. He thought the Beechwood Manor was haunted.”

  “To be fair, it is haunted,” I replied.

  Gwen smiled. “That’s my point! He told Holly he found out about it from some internet posting.”

  I nodded. “So maybe he knows which ones attract the legitimate people?”

  “Worth a shot,” Gwen replied. “I’m sure he wouldn’t mind talking to you. If you really want to seal the deal, offer to buy him a large mocha with extra sprinkles. The man is a total chocoholic.”

  I laughed. “Thanks for the tip.”

  The prospect of talking to Nick was a lot less scary than the idea of Googling my own name and seeing what came up.

  Gwen sidled up to me as I shut down the main computer. “Flapjack told us that you booked the chapel.”

  A grin spread across my face. “And he calls you the gossip hound.”

  “Come on! Tell me, tell me! When’s the big day?”

  “September 26th. It’s a Saturday and we will have the whole place all day, but I’m thinking late afternoon ceremony would be nice, take advantage of the natural light, and then have the reception under the stars—weather permitting, of course.”

  Gwen rubbed her hands together and squealed with glee. “Do you think that I could—”

  “Hello?” a female voice called from the front of the shop. “Is anyone here?”

  Flapjack’s voice cut through the dark. “It’s the Corpse Bride.”

  “I am not a corpse!”

  I shut my eyes. “Is it bedtime yet?”

  Chapter Nine

  We reconvened the meeting upstairs in my apartment, away from prying eyes. Hayward and Gwen sat side by side on the loveseat while Flapjack settled in on the back of the couch, his head hovering over my left shoulder as though he were some kind of ghost parrot-cat. Heather reluctantly took a seat in one of my dining room chairs that I’d dragged into the living room—not that it was an arduous journey.

  I made the introductions and Heather recited the story of her murder. By the time she finished, Gwen had crossed her arms and pursed her lips. “I’m sorry for what happened to you, but I have to say, I’m finding it hard to muster up the will to help you after what you did to Scarlet. She’s my friend and you’re essentially blackmailing her into helping you.”

  I scooted to the edge of my own seat, readying for a war of words. “It may seem heartless to you, but I didn’t know what else to bargain with,” Heather replied to Gwen. She kept her tone in check, but her expression hardened and I worried she was about to bolt. “I don’t know how long it’s been since you died … quite some time, judging by the Farrah Fawcett vibe you’ve got going—”

  Gwen reached up to stroke one of her feathered waves. I couldn’t tell if she was miffed or flattered by Heather’s remark.

  “But I’ve found we don’t have much to work with as ghosts. I don’t have money or jewels or any useful skills to offer in trade for help,” Heather continued. “So I saw an opportunity and I struck a deal.”

  “It’s all right, Gwen.” I raised a hand to keep her from spouting off. “I don’t mind helping. Clearly something traumatic happened here. We’ve seen before what that can do to a spirit.”

  Heather’s eyes widened. “What does that mean? What’s going to happen to me?”

  “Oh, don’t worry, whatever it is, we can handle it,” Flapjack said, his eyes alight. “We’re a one-stop freak show shop.”

 

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